


Penis Phobia/Philia

by amorae



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, FTM!Dave Strider, Fluff, Gen, Love Story, M/M, Other, Romance, Sex, crappy fluffy mushy love story, derp, ftm!dave, vagina sex!?, yes vagina sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:58:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorae/pseuds/amorae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is visting John Egbert in Washington for the summer. Dave Strider has two secrets: one, that he is in love with the stupid Egderp, and two, that he is a female-to-male transman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penis Phobia/Philia

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my second ever Homestuck fanfiction and my first ever fic that involves smut. So. Critiquing is really a great idea to me. I'd love it if I could get some feedback on characterization and on the role of the sexytimes and what you guys think of the fic overall.
> 
> ENJOY or some shit like that

TurntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

TG: so uh  
TG: since were gonna be living together this summer  
TG: i figured i should let you know some shit  
TG: about my equipment  
EB: equipment?  
EB: haha dave! you don’t need to bring any equipment! i don’t think we’ll be playing sports or anything…  
EB: i mean i was hoping we’d just stay inside playing video games and watching movies all day!  
TG: no goddamn it  
EB: don’t worry about any equipment!  
TG: i'm talking about equipment  
TG: my equipment  
TG: like the package god delivered to me on my day of birth seventeen years ago  
TG: the one i signed for and everything  
TG: except what i'm trying to say is that god never delivered my package to me  
TG: got lost in the fuckin mail man  
TG: which is unfortunate because come on its a strider wang  
TG: fuckin huge  
EB: wait  
TG: visible from the hubble space telescope or some shit  
EB: are you say that you’re…a girl?  
EB: like you’re not a boy?  
EB: dave?????  
TG: fuck man get your terminology right  
TG: gonna offend the whole damn population of minorities with that speech  
TG: im ftm  
TG: female to male transgender  
TG: call me a transman and use male pronouns and all is right in the world  
EB: why didn’t you tell me before???  
EB: i mean i'm not upset but  
EB: this seems kind of important!  
TG: it is  
TG: thats why im telling you now  
TG: so when we go swimming or whatever youre not like  
TG: whoa striders got tits  
TG: anyway  
TG: time to head to the airport  
TG: see you in a few hours  
EB: wait, dave!

TurntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

 

==> be the confused Egderp.

 

You are far too confused to care about being anything but confused.

Your name is John Egbert, and you just learned that your platonic soulbro is a transman.

You scrunch your face at the computer screen. You think back to all of the PSAs your school has done over the years in an attempt to make you all friendlier to each other. You remember the one on the LGBT community and you try to think of everything it mentioned about transgender people.

You’re not upset about Dave’s admission—if anything, you’re disappointed he didn’t tell you sooner.

No, what you’re surprised about is the way this is making you feel.

You see…you’ve always had a strong aversion to penises.

They creeped you the fuck out.

Big. Small. Thick. Thin. Cut. Uncut. Purple. Pink. Black. Whatever. The guy in the porno’s dick. Your own dick. They were all equally terrifying. When you masturbate, you close your eyes tight and refuse to think about anything but pleasure as you run the length of your hand up and down your own shaft. You pretend it’s not a penis that you’re touching, that it’s not as horrifying as it really is. You refuse to look at the protruding _thing_ coming from between your legs.

It’s not that you want a vagina or anything. You’re fine with your penis and your identity as a male. You just really dislike the thought of seeing—or godforbid, touching—another person’s penis.

This is why you claimed so fervently to a certain Karkat Vantas that you “are not a homosexual!” Because you’re not. You’re really not.

Even if you’ve wanted to get into Strider’s pants for quite some time.

Well, okay. To be fair, most of your fantasies never go past the point of kissing or, at the most, heavily making out. Every time your imagination strayed into deeper and darker waters you would freeze up and become so sincerely grossed out by the thought of anyone’s junk that you’d immediately stop being horny. Call it penisphobia.

You’ve always had the smallest of crushes on the Strider kid. At first, it had terrified you—did this mean you’re gay because you are not gay but you definitely really like Dave but you’re not gay, YOU’RE NOT GAY!—but you had steadily grown to accept that having a crush on a guy didn’t make you gay. Even having sex with a guy—ew, penis—didn’t make a person gay. Gay is an identity that some people identify with, and if you don’t, then you’re simply not gay. And that’s all there is to it.

But, now.

Now you can’t stop thinking about the crush. You spend the hours waiting for Dave’s plane to arrive in Washington thinking about your feelings. You sort of feel like your brain is broken, honestly. You can’t seem to wrap your head around all of the things you’re thinking and feeling.

Okay. So you, John Egbert, have a crush on the coolkid, Dave Strider. Dave strider is sort of the guy of your dreams, and you’ve been in love with him since you were thirteen. Dave Strider, the guy who has been your best bro since, like, forever, who also happens to have a vagina. You recognize that, ironically, you’re sort of being a dick right now. For years you’ve held out on telling Dave how you feel because you thought he had a hot dog instead of a bun. You do recognize that if the LGBT community got a hold of you, you’d be flayed alive. But a phobia is a phobia and it’s not as if you didn’t try to get over it. There were countless nights as a young high schooler where you tried to ease yourself into the concept of not fainting in terror at the sight of a penis. Most of the experiments ended in you screaming like a little girl being presented a tarantula-boa-constrictor chimera for Christmas. So you stopped trying to look at penises. It is a serious problem, okay?

So your feelings for Strider were pushed to the side as you admired him from afar. For nearly five years.

Dave’s plane is landing and now you’re really freaking out. You’re in the car on the way to the airport and your hands are nearly strangling the steering wheel. You get a text message from him that says “sup washington im here to rock your world” and you can’t help but laugh at how silly he can be.

You try to remember how to breathe as you park your car and head into the baggage claim area of the airport. You look for Dave, keeping your eye peeled for the patented Strider apathy.

Then you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

“Sup?”

He’s short, you realize with a start. He’s got white blond hair that sort of hangs loosely in his face. His sunglasses are huge and take up a significant portion of his face. He’s thin and lanky, and he’s wearing the same old broken record shit as always. He has his Hero of Time hoodie clutched in one hand and a relatively small and red piece of luggage standing awkwardly beside him.

Without thinking, you crush your soulbro into your arms and hug him tight. You’re almost surprised to feel his arms wrap around you in a gesture of warmth. It causes you to clutch him tighter and think to yourself that you don’t plan on ever letting him go.

 

==> be the Strider.

 

What? How can you be anything other than Strider? You’re so Strider you’re practically oozing it. You’ve got so much Strider in you that you’re handing it out to people in the hopes that someday they’ll be as cool and chill as you.

Right now, you’ve got your arms wrapped around a one John Egderp in a totally unironic display of brotherly love. It’s totally platonic. So platonic you can bet Plato is rolling around in his grave, mumbling to his dead friends and shit, “Man, that is some excellent brolove going on between the Egderp and Strider right about now,” and Aristotle and Socrates just nod their head in agreement.

Because there’s no way in hell you’re in love with anyone as derpy as John Goddamn Egbert, father of the windy thing.

You roll your eyes behind your shades and gently disentangle yourself from John. “Hey, dude, are there like, you know, vendors that sell grease wrapped in aluminum foil anywhere around here? Or has that type of technology not reached this far northwest yet?”

He scrunches his nose at you in an expression of confusion and you can almost feel your knees knock. Why haven’t you noticed how blue his eyes are before this moment in time?

“Like fast food?” he asks, his face lighting up in understanding.

“Yes, John. Like Ronald McDonald or the Burger King.” You force your face to remain impassive as you look around you curiously. There are a lot of tiny restaurants, but you don’t recognize any fast food joint. As strange as it may sound, right now, all you really want is the comforting familiarity of artery-clogging burgers and liver stopping sodas. John nods and he grabs your upper arm in excitement. He starts listing off all of the chains that are nearby and his enthusiasm and near ADHD practically nocks you off your feet. You almost tell him to calm the fuck down but you don’t, because his excitement is endearing.

He drags you out of the door and to his car, and you’re having a hard time keeping your belongings in tow. Not that you brought that much—even though you are planning to stay for the rest of the summer. You only brought the necessities—after all, John has a washing machine.

You wind up in his car and Egbert is pampering you as if you’re a goddamn Faberge egg: priceless and fragile. While you agree that you’re priceless, you’re definitely not fragile.

“Hey, look, I don’t have ‘handle with care’ written down my side. I’d show you to prove my point but I’m sure that I’d break your little ‘I’m not gay!’ mind if I showed you any more skin than I already have and you’d crash into the mountains or some shit from all of the hotness and quite frankly I’m not ready to die today.” You’re rambling. You shut right the fuck up once you realize this and watch John’s reaction through wide eyes, behind the safety of your sunglasses. A flush crawls up the boy’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Dave! I’m just so excited to see you again. I just feel like I need to play host to you and to make you as comfortable as possible!”

Aw, shit, you’ve made him feel guilty. This was not the outcome you had wanted. You sigh inwardly and hold out a fist to John. He nervously fist pounds it and you nod in encouragement to the scatterbrained boy.

“It’s totally chill. The chillest of chills. So chill, polar bears would get cold at how chill this is.” You slouch in your seat and fold your arms over your chest. This is so unfortunately awkward. No matter how many cool vibes you send in the general direction of Egbert, he just seems to get more frazzled and excited.

Right now he’s going on about all of the movies you’ll watch and all of the games you’ll play. He turns off the ignition and jumps out of the car, very literally jumping from foot to foot as he practically yells at you.

Holy.

Shit.

You put an arm on him and notice how tall he’s gotten. He’s at least six foot, and his voice is deep and rumbling in his chest. John stops bouncing and leads you into the joint.

The whole act of ordering and buying food is done without a hitch. John doesn’t try to pay for your foot and you let a flood of relief escape through your veins at the small gesture of understanding. You find a table in a remote corner and begin to eat your all American meal of heart attacks.

 

==> John: commence awkwardly staring at the Strider kid.

 

What?

You’ve been zoning out again.

You shove a French fry mindlessly into your mouth and take in Dave as much as you can. He’s small, sure, but he’s built. You see the evidence of many strife sessions with Bro lining his arms with ropes of muscle. His neck is thin and his chin is angular. His skin is pale as snow, and you suddenly understand his red eyes—he’s albino. He hides his eyes to hide the fact that he’s albino. You munch another fry absently and you examine his lips. They’re small but plump, forming a straight line of nonchalance. They’re a light, cotton candy pink, and not for the first time today you’re overcome with the urge to kiss him.

Suddenly, fingers are snapping in your face. “Yo, Earth to Egbert. Are you with us, bro? Did a wrackspurt or whatever worm its way into your brain? Cause if it did, let me know. Someone’s gotta call the Lovegoods and tell them about this.”

The reference snaps you back into reality. “…what?”

“C’mon. Harry Potter. Luna Lovegood, the crazy chick. You’re channeling your inner Luna Lovegood right now. Get with the pop culture.”

You shake your head. “Sorry, Dave. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” What a lame excuse. You’re the king of Pranksters; surely, you could have come up with a better reason to zone out?

It seems to work fine on Dave, though, because he relapses back into his impassive state and goes back to eating his kids meal. His toy is a weird puppet thing that Dave had snickered at and said something about sending it to his Bro as a gift of mutual irony. You had simply contemplated the definition of irony and came to the conclusion that Dave was misusing the word to remain as ironic as possible.

You finish eating and pile into your car. Then, without further ado, you’re on the way to your house and it’s all you can manage to not freak the fuck out. You’re freaking out because it’s finally sinking in that your best bro is here, right now, with you. Your best friend. The kid you’d rush home from school to talk to every day.

When Dave walks into your house and into your room he sort of throws his stuff onto the ground in the corner of your room and he turns to you with a curious expression. “So. Where am I sleeping?”

Oh.

You, uh.

You hadn’t thought of that part of the equation yet.

Your momentary falter causes Dave to smirk the slightest bit. “It’s okay man. We can share a bed. Just as long as Lil’ Cal gets to sleep in the bed with us.”

It’s all you can do to nod mutely at him as he starts to make himself at home and get comfortable in your room. Dave makes his way over to the TV and examines the gaming system you have hooked up to it. He looks around and turns to you, raising an eyebrow over the shades and asking, “Got any good games?”

Shaking yourself out of feeling so overwhelmed, you nod at him and get out your stack of video games. Dave immediately latches on to your copy of Assassins Creed and starts fiddling around with the TV until the game’s loading screen takes up the entire screen.

Then, without further ado, he plops his butt down on your floor and begins to play the game, shouting at the TV screen while pressing furiously against the controls. You’ve never seen him so worked up over anything in your life, but you somehow find this appropriate—that the only time he’d show emotion would be in front of a screen with a controller held tightly between his thin fingers. You sit down next to him and switch between staring transfixed at the TV screen and between staring at Dave out of the corner of your eye. His face is screwed up in concentration and his tongue is sticking out slightly between those small lips, his teeth just barely visible as they hover over his lip and tongue.

Without even realizing it, hours have passed by, and Dad is knocking on your bedroom door. You jump up and open the door, only to have Dad let himself in and stand in the middle of the room, staring down at Dave.

Dave reluctantly pauses the game and immediately switches back to his impassive and uncaring demeanor. Dad’s holding a cake in his hands and he thrusts it in Dave’s direction. Dave simply takes it and looks at it blankly.

“I am so glad that you are here to share this momentous summer with my son. I am so proud of both of you for being friends for so long and never giving up on each other.”

You shift uncomfortably from foot to foot and watch Dave’s reaction. Which is nonexistent. You nod at your Dad and try to get him out of the room politely. “Okay, Dad,” you say, taking his arm and leading him to the door. “I love you, Dad, we’ll come hang out with you later, okay, Dad? We’ve got a whole summer of bonding ahead of us.”

“I look forward to it, son. You’ve grown up into such a remarkable young man. I could never be more proud of you than I am on this day.”

The blush that is creeping up your face is fierce and strong.

“Okay, Dad, bye, Dad,” you say, and you try not to slam the door shut behind him. You press your back against the door and look up at Dave with what you hope is a mostly uncaring expression. You think you’re doing pretty well at it, too, until Dave suddenly bursts out into laughter.

 

==> be the laughing kid.

 

What was that?

You can’t hear anything over the sound of the extreme irony pulsing through the room right now.

John just looked up at you with the most terrified expression on his face. He tried to mask it with a bored look (one you’re sure he was trying to model after your own expression) but he failed so miserably at it. He just looked like a lost deer in a wood full of venison hunters. How could you not laugh at the sweet, delicious irony that was John, trying to look casual?

It was almost too much for you to handle.

After a good minute of laughing—John looking bewildered at first, then joining in, then simply looking bewildered again as he took his seat beside you—you finally calm down enough to sit back down and take the controller in your hands. It’s familiar and bulky, black instead of white, and everything you love about video games. You sigh and bring your smile back into a blank face, nestling yourself back on the floor beside John.

John fidgets beside you, slightly, as you contemplate unpausing the video game. “What do you want to do tonight?” John asks, looking up at the screen for a moment before turning his attention back to your face.

“Play video games?” you suggest, holding the controller in your hands.

John smiles and nods at you. “Well, I was thinking, like, after that!”

You pause and look at him for a moment. “…watch videos on youtube?”

Wow.

Could you demonstrate any more clearly that you guys met on the Internet?

A smirk is threatening to spread across your face as John nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! Then maybe we can watch movies!”

“I am not watching any of your stupid Nick Cage bullshit,” you say, holding the controller out in front of you in what you hope is a threatening gesture. “None of it. Remember that time we watched Con Air on stream together? Yeah, nope, not doing that again.”

John pouts at you and folds his arms over his chest. “Fine, then! We can’t watch any of your Jackie Chan crap, either.”

You hold up a hand in defense and put the controller on the ground. “Whoa, man, whoa. First of all, do you know how deep and versatile the ninja genre is? Get your act together. Shit is bananas. Second, don’t diss Jackie Chan, Mr. ‘Oh Nick Cage please ravish my body with your horrible acting!’ Egbert.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry when John sticks his tongue out at you. It’s such an act of childish defiance that you’re unsure whether you find it adorable or infuriating. Taking the moral high ground of irony, you ignore his response and shift your body to face the screen again.

“You gonna let me play my game or are you going to continue distracting me?” You ask him, cocking an eyebrow and bringing the controller up to your lap again. John just stares at you blankly for a minute, before breaking out into a buck-toothed grin.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll let you play your game. But be right back, I guess.”

You shrug and mutter “Yeah, whatever” under your breath as you finally unpause the video game and get down to business. The game is intense and you’ve got all of your thinking power focused on what’s in front of you. You shout obscenities at the screen and bite your lip in frustration. You wonder why your fingers don’t move faster than they do because right now you really, _really_ need to get going faster if you’re going to compl—

And suddenly you’re sprawled across the floor, controller thrown from your hands, because John has tackled you from behind. He screamed something inane, like “For Nick Cage!” in a bad British accent before diving down on top of you.

There is 160 pounds of scrawny Egbert lying on top of you, all six feet of him, pinning you to the ground as he laughs in his derpy laugh. “I sure got you!”

Your glasses are askew and they’re just barely covering your eyes. You’re sure you’ve got a look of total shock on your face, because John can’t stop looking at you and giggling.

It only takes a moment of paused dramaticism before you growl “two can play at this game,” and you roll the two of you over so that John’s now on his back and you’re hovering over him. You have him pinned—your hands had deftly found his wrists and you’ve got them pinned to the floor. Your legs are straddling one of his legs, holding him in place, and although you’re tiny, you’re strong as fuck.

John just laughs and tries to get the better of you, but you’ve got too strong a hold on him.

Then he brings his knee up to your stomach, which, okay, you weren’t expecting that, and then his hands are crawling their way up your sides and underneath your binder to tickle your ribcage.

Your only thought: this isn’t gay. Nope. This isn’t gay _at all._

At that moment you realize just how oblivious John really is because he clearly doesn’t seem to grasp the concept that, whoa, his hands are underneath your binder. He doesn’t seem to get the fact that he’s violating a very basic tenant of being friends with a transman: uhm. Don’t goddamn touch their binder.

You can’t help but laugh because, shit, that _tickles,_ and you try to shove John off of you. You mumble words that sound like “get off of me” but they’re muffled by his arm and by your laughter. They wind up sounding like “meff moff me!” which gets the message across pretty well. John withdraws his hands and sits up, grinning brightly down at you.

“I win,” he says, smirking. You struggle into a sitting position and pull your binder down so that it’s smooth against your stomach. You look up at him and smile in response. “Yeah, sure, sure,” you tell him. He jumps up and runs over to his movie collection, yelling about wanting to show you this movie and that movie and when you ask him if Nick Cage stars in any of them he yells back that no, he keeps his promises, don’t you know that? and you just follow along in his excitement, drowning but being dragged along in the current of his happiness.

In the end, you wind up catching it, and without realizing it you’re smiling, too.

 

==> be night time.

==> get into your Spiderman pajamas.

 

You are a seventeen year old boy and you certainly don’t own Spiderman pajamas. They’re Captain America pajamas, thank you very much. Captain America is a glorious superhero who has made America free for both you and me. It would do people good to be more appreciative of Captain America every once in a while.

You crawl into your bed and press yourself against the wall, leaving plenty of room for Dave to crawl in after you. He’s off in the bathroom getting changed for bed.

 

==> John: forget all about Dave’s confession.

 

What confession?

You smile when your bedroom door opens and Dave comes in. He’s only in his boxers and a loose fitting tee shirt. His legs are scrawny and stick out awkwardly from the holes at the bottom of the pair of shorts. His arms look pretty scrawny, too, in that oversized tee shirt. It drapes over his body and almost goes lower than his boxers do. You get the distinct impression that he’s wearing a dress, which makes you giggle to yourself.

His glasses are still perched on his face and his hair looks just the littlest bit disheveled. He nods at you from the door and walks slowly towards the bed, lifting himself in gingerly onto the mattress. He slips in between the blankets and rolls over so that he’s facing you.

“Hi, Dave,” you say, and you notice that your voice is a little breathless. You can’t help but think how adorable he is, and how you really don’t care whether you’re gay or not—Dave Strider defies all stereotypes. Could you just declare yourself Dave-Strider-sexual and get over the awkward gawkiness of being in love with a boy without being gay? If only.

He places his head down on the pillow unceremoniously and lifts an arm up around the pillow to loop at the edge of the mattress. “Sup,” he says, and you note the wariness in his voice. He must have had a really long and rough day, you realize—after all, he got up super early, flew pretty far away from home, and spent a good portion of an hour wrestling with his friend. While the rest of the day had been pretty subdued, you know that traveling is never easy or relaxing and that if it were you in Dave’s position you’d be fast asleep by now.

Without thinking, you reach a hand around to grab his. He doesn’t flinch, but it takes him a moment to allow his fingers to curl around your own, until you’re holding hands in bed together.

Gay? Never.

You sigh and close your eyes, breathing as deeply as you possibly can through your nose. “Have you had a good day?” you ask Dave, your eyes still closed. You can feel yourself already drifting off into sleep.

“Yeah, man, today was like Christmas came early or some shit. Totally whack. Had lots of fun, although I’m determined to finish all of your games before I leave, since you’re not doing them justice by playing them.”

You just laugh at him. “I’m not very good at playing video games.”

“No kidding,” Dave snarks back, but he squeezes your hand as he says it. You wonder if the action was unconscious, because his voice has slowed and has reached an octave higher than it normally is. Now it almost sounds breathy and girlish. He curls up slightly and winds up just half an inch closer to you, but you notice that half an inch. You hold your breath as he does this, and you slowly exhale when you notice how much closer he is now. Just half an inch. Why is it making your heart race?

The urge to take off his glasses is strong, but you ignore it. Instead, you readjust your hand so that you lace your fingers together. You can feel your heart stop as you anticipate him pulling his hand back and reclaiming it, but no such action occurs. He stays as passive as ever, hovering between the lines of drowsy and alert as thoughts race wildly through your head.

Part of you tells yourself to kiss him. Another part says go to sleep. A third part says to ask him more questions about his day. A fourth part—

You’re cut off by his sleepy question.

“I’m…I’m sorry if I freaked you out or whatever earlier. When I told you about my equipment problem. I just…I wanted to get that off my chest before I came here.” His voice is drenched in exhaustion and you wonder vaguely whether he’s actually even awake. You wonder if he even realizes that he’s asking you this. He sure doesn’t sound like himself: none of that nonchalance or sarcasm or “irony” is in his voice. Honestly, he sounds scared. He sounds like a scared kid who has a deep and dark secret who just wants to be accepted no matter what.

Without thinking, you bring your other arm to rest around his waist, and you hear his breath hitch faintly. The rare expulsion of emotion takes you by surprise, but you try not to let it show, in case you scare Dave and wind up securing him in the “distant forever” zone.

You shake your head slightly and curl your fingers around his side. “No, it’s okay. Honestly, I had forgotten all about it.”

But now that he’s mentioned it, your mind is racing even faster than it was before. It’s a jumbled mess of _Dave, attractive, wanttokiss, imnotgayimnotgayimnotgay,_ and _ohgodohgod_ going on up there. But none of it, you note, is a fear of his equipment—whether it be a penis or a vagina. And that, more than anything, solidifies something in your mind:

That no matter what, you are in love with a one Dave Strider.

Dave lets out a derisive snort that is as dismissive as it is fearful. “Really? Well, then. I guess I’m just the king of awkward or some shit for bringing it up.”

You involuntarily bring your arm closer to you, which brings Dave closer to you. “No, stop that. I don’t care. Calm down Dave. Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it later, when we’re both coherent.”

“Fine, whatever you say, bro,” Dave says, and you really notice just how tired he is. You want to take your glasses off but you don’t want to dislodge yourself from him in any way. You think idly about taking off Dave’s glasses, too, but decide that it would be a bad idea.

So, instead, you let yourself drift off to sleep in that very position: holding hands, one arm curled around his hip, his head lying precariously close to your chest, your breathing in tune, and the faintest of smiles tracing your lips.

 

==> be light outside, and be thankful you slept with sunglasses on your face.

 

Wait. You fell asleep with your sunglasses on your face? You haven’t done that since you were a wee little Strider. That’s something the rookies do, not what—

Oh. You totally did.

You open your eyes and take in your surroundings the best you can. One thing you notice, immediately, is that your hand is slippery with sweat. It’s pressed up against John’s hand and both arms are dangling off the bed. You can feel the beginnings of pins and needles lacing up and down your arm. The second thing you notice is that John’s hand is wrapped possessively around your middle. You know that you wouldn’t have allowed that to happen if you had been awake, so you know that must have happened in your sleep, because he’s really got a hold of you. You’re actually pressed up against his chest, with your face in the crook of his neck, resting along his collar bone. The third thing you notice is that John has a leg wrapped around yours, successfully insuring that you won’t get up and leave the minute you wake up.

Well, alright then, Egbert. “I’m not a homosexual” my ass, unless, well, he usually sleeps like this: dominating a pillow or some shit like it’s his goddamn prey.

You yawn and feel your jaw cracking. The sound of your jaw cracking evidently wakes John up because now he’s stirring, making cute little noises in the back of his throat before blearily opening his eyes and blinking down at you owlishly.

“Mornin’,” he says, and his voice sounds like his throat is covered in syrup.

“Good morning,” you say back to him, wondering how your glasses managed to stay on your face throughout the night. Sheer luck, you guess.

John waits a few moments before disentangling himself from you, and as he pulls his arm away from your middle, you immediately feel the loss. You almost ask him to stop, to not do that, to put his hand back—but you refrain. You stay silent as he slowly slips out of the bed and starts padding around his bedroom in his socks and his dorky Captain America pajama pants.

You’re not really sure what he’s trying to accomplish as he wanders around the room absently. You’re about to open your mouth and say something snarky when he turns to you and smiles that stupidly big and goofy grin.

“Do you want to skype Karkat later?”

Well. That was one of the last things you were expecting him to ask. You think about it for a moment before sitting up. You nod at him, slowly. “Yeah, I need another asshole in my life. No, really. I haven’t spoken to him since we, you know, saved the world and shit like that.” You rub your eyes, somehow managing to keep your glasses mostly in place. You guess it’s just that Strider expertise. “I’ve only really spoken with Terezi and Tavros, and I guess, on occasion, Gamzee and Kanaya.” Kanaya was actually living with Rose now, although Alternia had been restored and all of that shit. Rose and Kanaya went together like you and your sick beats: totally inseparable and incomplete without the other. Mom LaLonde wouldn’t let Rose go live on Alternia, so Kanaya came here. They managed to convince people that she had a rare skin affliction and people for the most part just ignored her skin color, and assumed her horns were a fashion accessory. It worked out great. As for the other trolls, they were either scattered across the world—you’re pretty sure someone went to go live with Jade and Bec, but you’re not sure if they’re still there or not—or they were back on their home planet in Alternia. Karkat was one of the trolls that had remained on Alternia.

John smiles and bounds over to you, all grins and big stupid teeth. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be really happy to talk to you!”

Somehow you doubt that, but you go along with it for John’s sake. “Alright, alright. So when do we do this? When do we wake the grumpy old troll who lives under the bridge?”

“Right now,” John says, as he grabs his laptop from against the wall and plops himself down on the bed. You curl your legs up to your chest and scoot over closer to him, attempting to keep some distance while still, you know, being intimate. Damn, being obscure and finicky about feelings is stupid. There’s a part of you that just wants to put your cheek on his shoulder and look at him as if daring him to tell you to move your cheek. There’s another part of you that wants to go back to Texas to clutch some pillows and pretend you don’t actually feel this way about Egderp. So, to reconcile both of these dichotomous feelings, you simply sit next to him, feeling the most vulnerable you’ve felt in years. For some reason, waking up pressed up against his chest has really thrown you into a whack.

You’re not sure you if you dislike it or if you like it. Instead of dwelling on it, you look towards John’s screen, which is peppered with fingerprints and smudges. You watch as he pulls up skype or whatever and he calls Karkat.

You cannot help but think of how stupid this is. You mean, _really._ Karkat. Vantas. Calling him. To webcam with him. This is a level of strange you’re not sure you can get behind. You’re not even sure if this is strange enough to be ironic, or if it’s just really, really weird.

The call picks up and a dark figure appears on the screen. The camera adjusts itself and you are greeted with a picture of a scowling troll, who does not look too happy.

“What do you want?” he growls, his voice deep, his words masked by an Alternian accent. His ‘w’ sounds are blurry and heavy, and he somehow manages to slip a ‘z’ sound in between the words ‘do’ and ‘you’. You’ve got to hand it to the troll—that’s a feat of English you didn’t think was possible.

John grins into the camera. “Hi, Karkat! How are you doing?” he asks, completely oblivious to the troll’s frustration.

Karkat brings a leathery fist up to his eye and rubs it. “Sleeping, before you interrupted me.” His eyes shine brightly in the imposed darkness of the compound he lives in. “I guess normal human courtesy would demand I ask how you’re doing? I assume there’s something really fucking important going on, otherwise you wouldn’t have called me at this hour.”

John laughs. “Silly Karkat! Isn’t it late afternoon for you guys?”

“Yes,” Karkat says, his voice dubious. “And that’s when we sleep. Stop beating around the damn bush, I want to hear the news.”  
Then, suddenly, the camera is directed at you and you know that John is showcasing you to the sleep deprived and grumpy troll. “Look who’s staying with me for the summer! Dave! Do you remember Dave?”

On the screen, you see Karkat squint his eyes, before a big, toothy smile spreads across his face. He brings a fist up to his head and scratches absently at the base of his horns. “How could I ever forget Dave fuckin’ Strider? How are you doing, fuckass? Same coolkid asshole as before, I hope.”

“Damn straight,” you say.

The conversation continues like this: Karkat saying something moderately nasty, Dave responding in tune, and John laughing at their banter. John is absolutely oblivious to the fact that Dave and Karkat really aren’t the best of buds and because of this fact Karkat and Dave have unanimously agreed to continue up the façade. Hey, anything that brings a smile to John’s face.

After a while, Karkat yawns and makes a face at the camera. He tells the two of you that he’s too tired to keep talking, and although he really enjoys wasting perfectly good sleeping time on talking to you, he really needs to do more important things. John, as usual, laughs at the troll while Dave shrugs and waves a hand at the screen. They say their goodbyes, and John shuts the laptop, apparently very pleased with himself.

You’ve managed to waste a good portion of the morning sleeping and webcamming with Karkat. It’s now the afternoon, and John bounds around the room like a hyperactive puppy again.

He’s asking you what you want to do today, where you want to go, if you want to go see the sights or if you want to save that for later, do you want to go to the aquarium???

You hold a hand up to your friend and swing your legs over the side of the bed, stepping out as you do so. You stumble, slightly, and walk over to John. “Calm down, dude. I promise, all of the things you want to do? They’ll be available later. We don’t need to do it all today. It’s not gonna disappear in a puff of smoke if we stop thinking about it.”

John nods, and opens his mouth to say something. Or he would try to say something if your hand didn’t dart out to cover it. “Sh, bro. Sh. Calm down. Today we’re going to teach you the art of yoga and meditation. Breathe in, breathe out. Deep, calm breaths.”

John runs his tongue across your hand and you instinctively pull it back, actually yelping in shock as you examine the slobber covered remains of what was once your clean and perfect hand. Your reaction causes John to actually howl with laughter and now he’s on the floor, rolling around a little bit as he clutches his stomach laughing.

You stare at him for a fraction of a second before stepping over him and heading into the bathroom.

 

==> you are 100% prankster.

 

Oh, man, you got him good! You got him _so_ good! He was so surprised. He didn’t expect a thing!

When Dave comes back from sulking or whatever in the bathroom, you start laughing again. He doesn’t respond—he just walks up to your TV, turns it on, and gets started on playing his video games. After a while you stop laughing and you sit beside him, joining him by cheering him on or helping him solve the various puzzles the games present. Now he’s playing Bioshock, which scared you a little too much to play past the first few missions.

You scream when Dave kills the first splicer, and he turns his head to look at you with an unamused expression. “Are you serious, bro? Did you really just scream at that?”

“Well, yes!” you say, blushing the slightest bit. “It was loud and it just jumped out at you…”

Dave just shakes his head at you, turning back to the game without another word. You’re not sure whether to be embarrassed or to feel offended—hey, those things are super scary. They’re supposed to be!

The day passes by in much the same fashion as the day before: the two of you sitting on the floor, switching between video game bouts and movie bouts. Instead of eating lunch, you guys eat popcorn, munching on it and periodically throwing it at each other or at the screen as you see fit. At one point, you illicit a laugh out of Dave, and you feel pride swelling in your chest that you managed to crack his seemingly impenetrable armor of stoicism and nonchalance.

And, as the day goes on, you begin to start wondering what it would be like to talk to Dave about your feelings for him.

You remember, vaguely, that he brought up his confession from the day before last night as the two of you were falling asleep. You were being honest when you told him that you had pretty much completely forgotten about it. But, when you woke up, it was immediately on your mind.

You’ve been thinking about it a lot. You’ve been thinking about what it means and how it may or may not affect your relationship with Dave.

When you look at Dave, you see, well, Dave. You’d have no inkling that he’s biologically female. Everything about him screams male: from the strands of muscle that line his otherwise frail arms to the angles in his face to his voice to his mannerisms. Everything about him screams that he is male, just like any old male. If he hadn’t told you, you would never have guessed. Yet there is a soft, hidden feminine part to him that you can tell causes him pain, whether he’d ever admit to it or not. While you yourself are pretty feminine and it doesn’t bother you, you know that any sign of feminism in the infamous Dave Strider would be seen as a sign of weakness. And, honestly? That breaks your heart. Because you’re pretty sure that Dave is perfect, just the way he is. From his soft skin to his biting sarcasm to his stupidly thin nose, everything about him is perfect.

You’re staring at him again, aren’t you?

Damn it.

At least he’s too preoccupied with the game to notice or care.

You continue getting lost in your thoughts. You wonder what he’d say if you asked if you could kiss him. You wonder what he’d do if you just reached out and grabbed his face. You wonder what he’d do if you got up and grabbed your computer to go ask one of your friends for advice.

Without thinking twice, you crawl over to the wall and pick up your laptop gingerly. Or the Cosbytop, whatever you’re calling it these days. Dave looks back for a fraction of a second before returning to the screen, obviously deeming your activities unimportant. Excellent. That gives you a chance to talk to Rose in private.

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

EB: rose  
EB: roooosssseeee  
TT: Yes, John?  
EB: can i ask you for advice  
TT: Yes. Of course. What do you need advising about today?  
EB: well  
EB: you can’t laugh or tell anyone  
EB: okay?  
TT: You know that I would never do such a thing.  
EB: like you can’t even tell kanaya okay!  
TT: Okay, John. I understand. What do you want to talk about?  
EB: well uh i really like dave and i want to kiss him but i'm scared that i'm going to freak him out or infringe on his personal space or something  
EB: i mean the last thing i want or need is the kid who’s living with me for the next month or so to be angry with me because i did something stupid  
TT: Hmmmm. This is puzzling.  
TT: Especially because I was under the impression that you were, as you said, not a homosexual? How do your feelings for Dave coincide with your identity as heterosexual? Are you admitting to liking men or is Dave a special case?  
EB: errr  
EB: lets say dave is a special case  
TT: Alright.  
TT: Well, first I think you must examine your own feelings about him. What is it about him that makes you think that you “like” him? Could this possibly be a simple infatuation based off of the fact that you two are now living together momentarily? Could it be a misunderstood appreciation for a long-loved friend?  
EB: no  
EB: i've uh  
EB: i've liked dave for a long time  
EB: i just never…talked about it?  
TT: Oh, alright. Well, answer the first part of the question, I suppose, then, if you are comfortable sharing such intimate details with this person’s sister.  
EB: i dunno rose!  
EB: i just know that i've always really liked him  
EB: even when we were in the medium and stuff, when we were all 13, i liked him, but i was too young i guess to really understand what that meant  
EB: i don’t know what it is about him  
EB: i just know, deep inside me, that i like him  
EB: sort of like…i don’t know. like how you know you like psychology! that's how i know i like dave. it's as simple and as honest as that.  
TT: While, of course, I do not have a complete or necessarily accurate snapshot of your feelings, and I am also unaware of how Dave feels about you, I can make a somewhat accurate assessment based off of what you have said about your feelings. It sounds to me that it would be beneficial to you to at the very least speak to Dave about the way you feel.  
EB: but i don’t know how to do it without making things awkward!  
TT: Well, certainly, simply coming out and kissing him would be ill advised. Even if someone would appreciate such a random act of affection, I suspect that without proper warning Dave would be unsure of how to deal with the display of affection and would thus cringe away from it and hide from any sort of feeling that may overwhelm his usual demeanor.  
TT: I think that it would be best if you sat Dave down, perhaps tonight, and spoke with him as candidly as you can about your feelings.  
TT: Although I must ask, John, why the sudden ability to discuss this with me? You know I have asked you numerous times if you had feelings for anyone, especially after Kanaya and I decided to be in a relationship. Each time I inquired you responded with a hearty “no!” and a chortle.  
EB: uhm  
EB: i gotta go  
EB: i'll talk to you later, rose! i promise!  
TT: Alright, John. Good luck.

ectoBiologist [EB] has ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

 

==> look at John with skepticism.

 

Whatever John is doing on his computer, it involves a lot of blushing, half-hidden giggles, and lots of smiles. You’ve paused your game to watch John’s reactions to whatever he’s doing on the computer. For a moment, you had guessed that he was watching or reading porn or something along those lines. But then you realized that those weren’t the reactions of someone doing that.

You thought about going to bother John, and you even thought about sneaking up behind him and getting payback for his surprise attack yesterday. But you didn’t. Instead, you sat exactly where he had left you, occasionally turning to play your game but mostly just staring at John curiously.

Then, suddenly, John closes his laptop and looks up.

There’s a light blush creeping up his cheeks. It rests right beneath his glasses, and you swear that his glasses will fog up if he’s not careful. For a second, you let yourself think about how adorable he is, before you stop yourself. Relationships end messily, man, and John would never think of you that way.

Except now John’s fidgeting uncomfortably and he looks really nervous and maybe a little sick.

“Dude, whatever you want to ask or say, spit it out. You’re going to start making me anxious if you don’t. I mean I’m already sittin over here biting my nails over what you’ve gotta say. So just say it and spare both of us.”

He looks up at you with what looks like surprise, before he opens his mouth. And then the word vomit falls out.

“Dave I think I have a crush on you and I kind of don’t know what to do about it and it’s been driving me nuts for like the past 24 hours, but I mean, who am I kidding, I’ve liked you for years I was just too shy to admit it because you know what? I have a penisphobia and I hate penises which is why I tell everyone I’m not gay but I’ve always been a little bit gay for you and it’s always made me really upset and now and now and NOW I don’t know what to do and I’ve been sitting here freaking out over all of my feelings for what feels like forever even though it’s only realistically been a day and I want to kiss you but I don’t want to upset you and oh God I’m so afraid of your reaction so I’m just going to shut up now and let you reject me or whatever and then we can move on with our lives and keep playing video games.”

Well. That was a mouthful. John looks thoroughly embarrassed now, and his entire face is turning a shade of red that is reminiscent of a pomegranate.

And now you’re being expected to respond to this run on confession? What the fuck are you supposed to say? ‘Oh, John, take me like an animal’? Or how does ‘John, I have wanted you all my life, let us abscond and get married right this moment!’ sound?

You open your mouth.

You close your mouth.

You open your mouth again.

You close your mouth again.

And then, without really thinking it through, or considering the consequences, or really caring about anything beyond what you want in this exact moment, you crawl over to your bromate and you plant a kiss firmly on his lips.

The only thought running through your head?: _This is so unironic it’s reaching platitudes of irony._

Just the thought that John may have liked you all of this time, while you’ve been agonizing over everything you are, wondering what it was about yourself that made you so unappealing, is hilarious in and of itself. Then, of course, the thought that it took John this long to come out and say it.

It takes the stunned John a second, but he responds to the kiss by kissing you back.

After all, who wouldn’t? Kissing a Strider is akin to getting your face sucked by an angel. Soft lips that coincide with plush rumps that are made for grabbing? Who wouldn’t want a taste of your candy-licious lips?

You won’t lie. The kiss is sort of sloppy. You’re pretty sure John has never kissed anyone before. You have, but it was once, at a party, and you were drunk.

John sighs into your lips and you feel his arms tentatively start to wrap themselves around your shoulders. You take a moment to appreciate the feeling before you allow yourself to be drawn closer to the boy, allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hesitant lips.

Without much thought, you decide to take the lead. You place two arms firmly on his shoulders and you push your face closer to his, working your lips firmly against his own. Your glasses clink together in an annoying reunion and you irritably reach a hand up to take off the offending pieces of plastic. You reach for John’s first, carelessly taking them off his face and then throwing them across the room. Then, you reach up and take your own glasses off, being careful to keep John distracted the entire time. You throw your glasses in the same fashion that you had thrown John’s, and then you return your hand to its perch on his shoulder.

After a minute of chaste kissing, the two of you break apart for air. You open your eyes to find John staring at you, those brilliant, blue eyes boring holes into your face. Ouch. You can practically feel the embers of your burned down defense mechanisms turning into dust and ash at the intensity of his stare.

John lets out a breathless little laugh and he lets his arms fall back to his side.

“Well, okay, I guess that answers my question,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow at him, hoping the incredulity shines through. “You _think_?” you ask him. “You only think that was my answer. Wow. Okay John. Let me tell you something straight up: if you didn’t understand everything that was said in that kiss then I take my answer back right now.”

John just laughs again and brings you back into another tight embrace. You suddenly find your face being pressed against his chest and you mumble into it, “Whoa, man, all I did was kiss you, I didn’t confess some undying love to you or anything. Dude, let go of me. I can’t stand all of this romance shit, I’m going to melt into a puddle of Dave Strider in a minute if you keep up all of this mushy gushy crap.”

He cocks his head a little bit to the side and nuzzles his face into your hair.

“Aw shit man that wasn’t an invitation to get more cuddly!” you almost whine, and you can feel it as he laughs into the top of your head. “I don’t do the whole boyfriend thing, dude, that’s just too extreme for me.”

“You’re lying,” John says, squeezing you tightly.

“Well aren’t you just the king of seeing through me,” you tell him. Admitting defeat.

Because, to be quite honest, you really wouldn’t like anything more than to be seen holding hands with John Egderp.

 

==> be later, and be the one in Captain America pants again.

 

Well, to be honest, you’re not really sure your pants are going to be staying on much longer.

It’s been almost a week since you first spoke to Dave. It’s been almost a week since the two of you kissed for the first time. And it’s been a week of nothing but holding each other and kissing and making out and awkward talks about feelings and body parts.

Every morning, you wake up with Dave held tightly in your arms. You love the way his hands curl slightly around your forearms, securing you in place. You love the way he snuggles his face into the crook of your arm. You love the way he blinks up at you owlishly each morning, unsure of his surroundings. You love the look of gratitude he gives you as you silently hand him his shades.

Every afternoon, you sit with him, sometimes with your head in his lap or his head in yours. You watch him play video games and you watch him yell at your stupid movies. Usually, when he’s been yelling too much (either saying something snarky about your movies or actually shouting obscenities at a video game) you just lean down and kiss him. That usually shuts him up really fast.

Every night the two of you crawl into bed together and kiss for a long time. You laugh and talk and share as much as either of you feels comfortable sharing. And then you fall asleep together, like that, only to repeat it all the next day.

Except, well, last night’s conversation went a little differently.

Because Dave brought up something that was a little embarrassing: your erection.

He had paused, his hand pressed against your stomach, and he had looked up at you. His eyes were light red, with deeper and lighter red laced in the iris. He seemed paralyzed, suddenly, as if unsure of what to do with himself now that he was in this predicament.

“What do you want to do?” you had asked him, a little breathless and a little uncomfortable. After all, this had sort of been an extreme game of blue balls for the past few days. How turned on and horny could John get before he overcame his aversion to dick and gave himself release, or asked Dave to do it for him?

Dave faltered, looking down and fixating on his hand. “I don’t know,” he answered, and you heard the fear and nervousness in his voice. It was the most candid thing he had ever said, and it broke your heart to see the scared look that was creasing his features.

You pulled his hand up to your face and kissed his fingers. He made a face at you—the face clearly said _oh come on man you’re not going to be that type of dork are you_ \--before you put both of your hands down and let your face grow as serious as you could make it. “Look, Dave. We’ll do whatever you want, and only what you’re comfortable with. I mean, I don’t know. You know about my problems.” You tried not to look at Dave’s face as you said that, because you knew what it would display: an amused smirk. When you had admitted that you hadn’t spoken to Dave about your feelings for so long because of your phobia, he had thrown his head back and laughed. He had assured you that he was laughing at the irony, not at your phobia, but you weren’t totally convinced. “If you wanted to go farther, we could do whatever you wanted.”

Dave shook his head the slightest bit. “I have no idea. Let’s just let whatever is gonna happen, gonna happen.” Then without further ado he had latched himself onto you, kissing you as deeply as he could manage.

Which leads you to where the two of you are right now:

Lying in bed, with Dave straddling your hips, pressing lightly against your erection, kissing you deeply. You have your back pressed against the wall and you’re starting to not be able to think very clearly at all. Your mind is a haze of arousal and adoration as your eyes flutter open every so often to take in the sight that is in front of you.

You brush your tongue across Dave’s bottom lip and you relish the feeling as his body turns into putty against you, all sighs and moans from that simple touch. And, right now, you really can’t take it. So you bring your lips down the edge of his throat, kissing gently, until you got to the base of his throat. You let your tongue run across his collarbone.

You swear, you’ve never in your life thought you’d hear the sound that just came out of his mouth come from Dave fucking Strider. You gently suck against his collarbone, egged on by the sounds Dave is making, and you swear you can feel your heart exploding in your chest as Dave grabs your head and whimpers.

Knowing that you’re making Dave feel this good is making your blood sing and your heart soar.

You pull away and already see the beginnings of a hickey forming. Dave’s head falls back so that his hair is in his face, and he looks up at you, his eyes all heavily lidded with lust and it makes you want to _squirm_ with arousal. He dips and brings his lips to yours and you kiss deeply, tongues sliding against each other as he grips your shoulders tightly and pushes back against your crotch. You can’t help but gasp into his mouth and pull him closer.

You run your hands up and down his back and feel him shiver. You let your fingers curl underneath the fabric of his binder, and that’s when his fingers tighten, just the slightest bit.

“Are you okay with this?” you ask him, breathing into his ear, as you absentmindedly draw circles against his hip with your thumb.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look at you as he buries his face into your neck before trailing kisses up to your lips. You take that as much of a “yes” as you’re going to get and you slowly start to slide his binder and his shirt over his head.

His hands freeze on your shoulders and his fingers tighten, tighten, to the point where you can see his arms shaking the slightest bit and you’re sure his knuckles have gone white

You have never seen Dave Strider this broken before. And somehow, it is as beautiful as it is tragic.

==> what is happening this is terrifying stop that John stop that right this instant.

Clearly, your brain isn’t working, otherwise, you wouldn’t have let John do this. Not that you ever agreed—damn kid just took your silence as a yes, which, okay, it was _supposed_ to be taken that way but right now you really just want something and someone to blame for your feelings of terror. You hold your breath as his hands slide tentatively up your back. He drags your clothes with his hands and you love the way his skin just barely grazes yours, soft touches, so unlike what you’d originally had thought but still nice.

But now your clothes are dangerously close to your neck, and you feel the collars catching on your chin. You hold your breath and close your eyes tight, pretending this isn’t happening, pretending you aren’t as vulnerable as you are in this exact moment.

But there’s no hiding from it.

You’re exposed.

You sigh softly as the garments escape you, and you watch as John discards of them.

His eyes are fixated on your face. You can’t meet his gaze.

And, slowly, John places a tentative hand beneath your chin, and he pulls you in for a simple and innocent kiss.

Goddamn it. You can feel your heart bursting in your chest. Who knew _John_ would be the one to break your armor?

Now he’s pressing against you, all confidence and gentle touching, and you’re being laid across the bed. Your head finds the pillow and you arch your body (somewhat involuntarily) into his touch as he holds the base of your back, never breaking the kiss. His hands move to meet at the base of your stomach, and they slowly, carefully, slide up your middle.

Your breath catches in your throat as you wish desperately that his hands would touch smooth biceps as opposed to what’s actually there. You silently curse Bro for refusing to let you get top surgery until you’re 18—joking about how stupid you are to want to give up your sweet rack, but beneath the sarcasm you could sense his apprehension of the idea that maybe, someday, you’d grow to regret it. Well, right now you’re certainly regretting _something:_ not cutting off your tits when you were younger.

Then John’s hand find purchase at the base of one of your breasts and _oh._ You muffle a gasp between a slick tongue and closed teeth as you feel his rough palms slowly slide up to caress each breast gingerly.

Oh.

You squirm beneath him, only slightly, but it’s enough for John to notice. You look up at his face as he looks down at your chest and you see his smile of confidence. He’s feeling pretty good about himself, isn’t he? For a moment, you consider saying something snide to him just to wipe that derpy smile off his face.

That was before he leant down and took one of your breasts into his mouth.

The world goes white for a moment.

John removes his lips and trails kisses up your collar bone and up your jaw, until he’s kissing the base of your mouth. Then the two of you are kissing, deep and raw and there’s so much emotion pouring out of this single kiss you’re not sure where you end and he begins.

 

==> stop being a sappy idiot, Dave. You’re Dave Strider, Knight of Time, and you don’t have time for this romantic bullshit.

 

Hey! You’re not Dave Strider. You’re John Egbert, and you’re currently raking your tongue across your boyfriend’s nipple, attempting to illicit more of those glorious shudder-sighs he keeps accidentally releasing.

You worm your fingers into the base of Dave’s boxers, and feel his muscles tense beneath you. You look curiously at the smooth stomach, and examine the place where his boobs begin, almost perplexed by their presence. They seem so out of place on Dave, and you realize with a slight smile that it really doesn’t matter whether your boyfriend has a great rack or not. He’s still your boyfriend, even if he wound up with two X chromosomes accidentally.

Dave tenses slightly beneath you, and you lay a kiss at the lip of his belly button. You pull his boxer’s down until you reveal what he has hidden so well for so long.

There is a single moment of awkwardness as you are gripped with the sudden desire not to look at it out of respect for Dave. You look up at him instead, your chin resting against his pelvis, and you see the anticipation lining his eyes. While there’s fear, certainly, hidden deep within his irises, you can tell that his arousal is definitely winning.

You scoot down the bed just the tiniest bit until you’re suddenly face to face with Dave Strider’s vagina.

Uh, wow. This is not.

This is not something you had been expecting.

You press your face against his labia and lay kisses against the skin folds. Dave’s hands slide through your hair and his fingers begin knotting into the strands, tugging lightly as his legs scrabble for purchase against the mattress. You turn to one thigh and kiss it before returning to the job that his been placed before you.

You’re not going to lie.

You looked up how to eat out a girl properly.

Then, you looked up how to eat out a transman. Because you had a feeling the rules would be a little different. And you were right.

So, without further ado, you lay your tongue flat against Dave’s clitoris and you pull your tongue up, roughly, slowly, applying as much pressure as you possibly can to that small bundle of nerves.

Dave moans as he fists your hair and arches into your tongue. Well, you think: you’re doing _something_ right.

The rules of eating out a transman are pretty simple: treat the damn clit like it’s your worst enemy. A lot of transmen have serious problems with their vaginal areas, specifically with the “vaginal canal,” which you can’t help but think is a damn creepy name, but you’re not a doctor, are you? While, in most cases of oral sex on a woman, you would pay some attention to the little place downstairs, you feel it’s best to downplay any stimulation there on Dave. You know, don’t draw attention to his missing body parts and blah blah blah. After all, what is a clit other than an under grown penis?

A goddamn sore spot, you think. It’s a little monster—shifting and swelling and it’s surprisingly hard to keep your tongue trained on it.

In a moment of frustration, you grab hold of it with your lips and suck, flicking your tongue against it as you do so. _That’ll show you,_ you think, or at least that’s what you would be thinking if you hadn’t heard what you just heard.

Dave Strider, screaming.

 

==> oh god oh god OH MY FUCKING GOD

 

There are no coherent thoughts in your head as you thrust into the warm and _sofuckingwetitfeelssogoodohgod_ feeling of John’s mouth, almost sobbing with pleasure as he suckles against your clit. He slurps and flicks and licks and

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

And now you’re coming, feeling your body release through tight contractions and waves of pleasure. You feel yourself growing wetter and John, the _dick_ is still sucking your clit like it’s his personal fucking enemy and you actually have to _shove_ his face out of your _goddamn vagina_ in order to get him to stop. Jesus, man, that’s a really fucking sensitive part of a guy’s body, doesn’t he know that?

John crawls up you, slowly, as you’re still panting, your body contorting as the last wave of pleasure wracks through you. It’s almost more than you can take—until John is kissing you, his face wet, and for a second you’re grossed out-- _ew isn’t that my own…vagina…fluid..liquid…bullshit? What the fuck, John?_ \--before he pulls away and you open your eyes and you see what is etched all over his face like he’s a goddamn etchasketch.

You bring your hands beneath his shirt and tug it over his head. Once his shirt has been done away with, he slides out of his boxers, and now both of you are stark naked, lying in bed together.

You shift the slightest bit and feel the wet spot you’ve made on his sheets. You open your mouth to apologize before John dives, placing his lips on yours, and he catches you in yet another kiss. Does this boy ever get tired of kissing? Apparently not. It’s been his secret weapon to shut you up for the past few days.

And then he’s mumbling something against your mouth, which you want to call him out on, since isn’t that a little hypocritical? But he’s asking something that seems pretty valid to you. “Do,” he asks, voice straining. “Do you want to…?”

The unasked question lays heavily in the air between the two of you. You take a moment to appreciate just how ridiculous the question really is: here the two of you are, lying together, naked for fucks sake. John has just eaten you out, making you forget momentarily that your body is all wrong and your anatomy prevents you from feeling pleasure. He made you forget that. And he’s asking…?

You can’t help yourself. You swear.

“God damn it, Egbert. If we weren’t in the position that we’re in right now I’d shove you off the bed so hard the floor would be offended. Yes, Egbert. _Yes._ ” Without further ado, you push against his shoulders and maneuver yourself so that you’re now on top of John. He looks a little startled and maybe a little confused until you press your lips at the base of his throat and suck slightly.

Now you’re on top, and you want him to know that no matter who has the vagina in the relationship, you wear the goddamn pants.

He melts into the bed as you place hickey after hickey against his chest. You feel his dick twitching at the base of your back, against you, and you can’t help but get turned on all over again. After a few minutes of teasing, you finally reach behind you and maneuver yourself so that John’s dick is in front of you and in your hands.

You love the look of stunned arousal that crosses John’s face as you grip the base of his penis. Penisphobia apparently forgotten, you run your palm up and down his “member” or some shit, and love the way you can feel it twitching in your hands. Yep. There’s never really been any question of whether or not you’re gay.

You look around yourself and find John’s bedside table. With one hand running up and down John, squeezing and brushing light touches interchangeably, you open his bedside table drawers to look for a condom. You find one, just one, hidden underneath a stack of what looks like old school papers and you’re sure that this was a handout from sex ed. You grab it and examine it—yep, the expiration date is a long ways away—and you rip it open with your teeth. The movement is somewhat clumsy (come _on_ , it’s not like you’ve ever done this before), and then you slide the little latex circle over his dick.

There’s a moment where John looks down at himself with a confused expression, as if he’s never seen his dick with latex on it. Then you remember his penisphobia and realize that if you’re not careful, the dumb derp is going to get all freaked out and he’s going to turn tail and run away.

No, goddamn it. No. You’re the one who should be terrified of this shit, and you’re so aroused you’re almost shaking. You’re not going to let John’s stupid phobia get in the way of this. Not when you’re the one who should be all squirmy and disgusted and hateful of what’s between your legs. It’s not happening.

So, without much thought, you lift your hips up and guide John’s dick into you.

Okay, ew.

You’re wet and maybe even a little drippy and you can’t help but scowl at how gross your anatomy is. Shit, man. This isn’t right. That ain’t supposed to be there.

But then John lifts his hips and slowly thrusts into you, and you’re seeing white again as  
Ohmy _god_ youfeelsofullandyoucanfeelhiscocktwitchinginsideyouand—

You grip the side of the bed and his hands grip your hips as you lift up so that he’s almost out of you, and then you push down again, and he thrusts up, so that the two of you meet somewhere in the middle. You feel him inside you, taking you over, and you squeeze against the foreign but amazing feeling. Your mouth opens in an “oh” of amazement and John’s head lolls back, a soft moan escaping his lips at the feeling. It’s like stimulation overload and you’re really not seeing very properly right now as you let yourself become consumed by John.

And then, slowly but surely, you guys pick up a rhythm. John pushes upwards and you press downwards until the two of you are going at it fast and rough. John’s nails are biting into the skin of your hips and you’re sure it’s going to bruise tomorrow, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care as you roll your hips forward and you hear John grunt in response.

It doesn’t take long until you’re coming again, clenching against his dick tightly, crying out at the feelings that are rolling over you. And then John is coming, too, and you can feel him twitching and coming as well, which almost makes you orgasm all over again. You open your eyes weakly and watch his reaction as his eyes roll back into his head and his grip tightens against you. He stops rutting into you nearly as fast, until he’s finally still. His chest is still heaving and you’re sure you’re still breathing heavily, too.

Then, slowly, John pulls out of you, and you lift your hips the slightest bit in order to help him. He cleans himself up and throws the used condom somewhere near the trashcan, completely uncaring in that moment where it wound up. When his breathing has slowed and your heart has stopped racing, you crawl beside him and lay your head down. He brings an arm around your shoulders and presses his face into your hair. The two of you lay like that for what seems like an eternity.

After a while, you can’t help but lift your head to look up at John. He looks down at you over the bridge of his nose, vision probably distorted due to his lack of glasses. “I just want you to know that you’re the gayest of gays, Egbert, and that no matter what, you’re the bottom in this relationship.” You lay your head back down and feel as John laughs at your statement. “Okay,” he says, probably just to appease you but you don’t care. It’s enough.


End file.
